


Return To Our Roots

by Viper_Flower



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Area 77 Hippies, Gen, Mycelium Resistance, Sort Of, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viper_Flower/pseuds/Viper_Flower
Summary: The hippies make a wrong turn in time, and end up in Season 7. And in front of them, is a sight none of them expected... a not-so-peaceful protest
Comments: 4
Kudos: 106





	Return To Our Roots

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was made my thatreallyminecraftsmygender on Tumblr! Super thanks to them for inspiration!
> 
> Their blog is here: https://thatreallyminecraftsmygender.tumblr.com

“Wow,” Two identical voices rang out in the empty shopping district, six pairs of eyes staring at each other. Inside the town hall, three men adorned with flower crowns faced three more with pins on their jackets. Nearby stood a white quartz box, the iron door still open.

“So, you’re us in the future?” Grian stepped forward, his poppy and red tulip crown lopsided. His face and hands were smeared with dirt, and his nose was slightly sunburnt. Around his neck hung a necklace of handmade beads, and his toes curled in his sandals.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Grian shrugged, shaking out his hair so the unshaven side was out of his eyes. He bit his pierced lip, looking his counterpart up and down, and tapping his grungy sneakers on the mycelium he’d just put down. His pins rattled as he held out a hand to shake.

“It’s a bit odd to be in the future but see something I remember from a while ago.” Impulse chuckled, smiling his usual crooked grin. He had a dandelion behind his ear and redstone dust on his brow where he had wiped away some sweat. He fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist, picking at the loose threads on his shorts.

“Remember how fun it was, though?” Impulse’s grin was twisted into a smirk, his golden eyes and piercings glinting in the sun. Safely pins hung from his bomber-jacket lapel, jingling as he ran the claws on his gardening gloves over them. His pants had even more pockets sewn onto them, each with patches both he and his counterpart knew and held dear.

Ren stood behind his friends, peering over their shoulders and trying to spot his counterpart. He sighed inaudibly, pulling his green peace-sign jacket closer around him and hanging his head. He almost cursed when his glasses slipped from his nose and broke in two on the ground, alerting the punks of his presence.

“Here, let me get those for you!” Etho hurried forward and bent down to grab the glasses, his white hair making him stand out in Ren’s fuzzy vision. Impulse tossed over a bottle of superglue, and Etho caught it in his gloved hand. Ren tried to read the patches on his vest, but he could only make out “M-R” in big purple letters. “That should fix it!” Etho stood up and returned Ren’s glasses to him. The first thing the hippie noticed was the small mushroom etched into his headband, and that his mask had been exchanged for a gas mask that covered the lower half of his face.

“So, who’re you fighting?” Hippie Grian asked the future him. “We’re still protesting Area 77, those stubborn a-”

“GRIAN.” Both Grians froze as Scar's voice echoed around the room, and they turned to see the mayor sitting on his diamond throne, Bdubs on the armrest with his legs dangling off the side. “Care to explain?”

“No thanks, we’re good!” Punk Grian snickered, holding up a block of mycelium. Scar’s lip curled at the sight, and he sent a nod at Bdubs. The captain sneered, and in one movement, Bdubs was diving down with a Netherite sword at the ready.

Punk Grian yanked a small jar out of his pocket and threw it at Scar. The jar exploded a bit early, but soon the mayor and his captain were still engulfed in a cloud of dust and mushroom spores. “Let’s get outta here!” The three punks booked it out of the town hall, chanting “Our land, our roots!” Taking a hint, the hippies leaped into their time machine, and in a flash, they were gone.

Alone in the town hall, Scar and Bdubs cursed the Mycelium Resistance as they shook mushroom spores out of their hair and clothes. They’d get those troublemakers next time, they assured each other. Off in the distance, however, was the rhythmic sound of shovels in soft dirt, in time with the chant of “Our land, our roots!”


End file.
